Chapter 41: "What Are You Going to Stop Me With? Your Mouth?"

Chapter 41: "What Are You Going to Stop Me With? Your Mouth?"

"Let's not even talk about History of Magic. No point arguing with a ghost who's just doing his job."

"But Defence Against the Dark Arts? What in Merlin's name is that supposed to be?"

"Think about it. Has our esteemed professor cast even a single spell in front of us?"

"Besides stammering his way through the textbook, what else can that garlic-reeking fool actually do?"

"With an idiot like that teaching, how can Hogwarts possibly improve?"

Leon's words struck a chord. Slytherins respected strength, and they had long despised Quirrell's timid incompetence. Fueled by the beer, the young snakes began to cheer and shout in agreement.

"I was looking through a book in the library," Leon continued, his voice rising above the din. "Pictures from over a hundred years ago. Hogwarts students duelling."

"Attack spells, defensive charms, complex spell combinations... it was magnificent!"

"And now?"

"With all due respect, many of the senior students today can barely cast a decent Shield Charm!"

"Hogwarts," Leon declared, his voice ringing with contempt, "has shamefully regressed!"

His words were sharp, direct, cutting to the bone. The older students in the common room bristled at first, but upon reflection, they flushed with shame.

Seeing the mood had reached its peak, Leon cleared his throat, preparing to deliver his closing argument – something along the lines of "Only the Peaky Blinders can make Hogwarts great again."

But just then, a stern female voice cut through the air from the entrance. The rowdy students instantly fell silent, as if grabbed by the throat.

"Can someone tell me what is going on here?"

Leon turned. A girl with short, dark hair was striding furiously into the common room. He recognized her instantly: Gemma Farley, a fifth-year, and the current Slytherin prefect.

"What are you drinking?" Farley demanded, her face grim. She sniffed the air, her frown deepening at the faint smell of alcohol. "Butterbeer is only permitted in Hogsmeade or during official school events! It is forbidden in common rooms and dormitories! Have you all forgotten the rules?"

Known as the most severe and humorless of all the prefects, Farley commanded absolute authority. Everyone lowered their heads guiltily. Everyone except Leon.

"For this blatant disregard of school rules, Slytherin loses five points!" Farley announced, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Get rid of these bottles immediately!"

Amidst the scramble to hide the evidence, Leon stood out. Though his speech had been interrupted, it was no great loss. He slowly rose and began walking towards the dormitories.

"Shelby," Farley's voice stopped him, cold and flat. "Firstly, the Shield Charm is not a simple spell. Many Ministry employees cannot cast a proper Protego."

Leon didn't even bother turning around. "That just proves that in recent years, Hogwarts has been graduating incompetents, many of whom ended up at the Ministry."

Farley gasped, momentarily speechless. Gritting her teeth, she retorted, "I don't know about the other Houses, but in Slytherin, there are still quite a few who can cast the charm proficiently!"

"Oh?" Leon drew his wand and turned to face her. He gave a mockingly gallant bow. "Prepare your Shield Charm, then. Show me everything you've got, esteemed Prefect."

He flicked his wand casually. "Expelliarmus."

Having been warned, Farley instinctively cast "Protego." A faint, translucent blue shield shimmered into existence in front of her, roughly half her height, its edges wavering uncertainly.

Leon's Disarming Charm flew towards it, not particularly fast, striking the shield near its right edge. Ripples spread across the barrier, and a thin crack appeared.

A second later, Farley's wand flew high into the air, landing neatly at Leon's feet.

"Your shield couldn't even withstand a half-hearted Disarming Charm. It's as flimsy as melting ice," Leon said, picking up her wand and handing it back to the crimson-faced prefect. "What happens when you face a real curse? What are you going to block it with? Your sharp tongue?"

"Knowing you can't cast a decent Shield Charm, why didn't you try to dodge or counter-attack? Were you hoping your opponent would be even weaker than you? Unlikely, I'm afraid."

His words were laced with venom. The other Slytherins watched, stunned into silence, barely daring to breathe.

"In duels a hundred years ago, no one would just stand there hiding behind a shield thinner than parchment. They'd use Protego to block the first spell, then immediately follow up with a counter-curse, balancing offence and defence."

"I truly don't understand how you have the audacity to claim that Slytherins can cast this charm 'proficiently'."

"Unless," he added with a sneer, "you count that pathetic display as 'proficient'. In which case, you wouldn't be wrong."

"After all, it seems our current Slytherin House excels at producing useless show ponies!"

Leon didn't hold back, tearing Farley down and implicitly insulting everyone else in the room.

Dumbledore's legacy, Leon thought bitterly, shaking his head in disappointment as he felt the complex mix of anger, shame, and fear radiating from the students. He's painstakingly raised a generation of weaklings.

He had come to Hogwarts hoping to recruit talent for the Peaky Blinders. But these students... how could they possibly be worthy?

Bloody hell, what happened to Slytherin House? No wonder Gryffindor walks all over them.

Obsessed with blood purity, they've become like pedigree show dogs – pretty, but utterly useless.

Pocketing his wand, Leon strode out of the common room, leaving a room full of stunned, conflicted students behind him.

The next morning, Leon woke early and put on a fresh suit. He skipped breakfast in the Great Hall and headed straight outside. Before long, he stood before a massive, ancient willow tree.

It was the Whomping Willow. Its branches thrashed violently, cracking like whips, preventing anyone from approaching. The ground within a five-meter radius was devoid of any life.

Leon observed it carefully for a moment, finally spotting an inconspicuous knot on the trunk.

With a flick of his wand and a murmured Levitation Charm, a nearby stone shot through the air, striking the knot dead centre.

Instantly, the Whomping Willow froze, as if someone had pressed pause. Even its leaves stopped rustling. It stood utterly still, like a sculpture.

Leon walked quickly to the base of the tree. He frowned at the large hole amongst the roots, glanced down at his clean suit, sighed, and climbed inside.